Reset, Obviously
by SarahCat1717
Summary: Set during Torchwood's ep. "Reset", Jack and Ianto make a trip to St. Bart's to retrieve the body of a victim that died under the same mysterious circumstances as several others. They are interrupted by a DI and his consulting detectives. Lestrade has a bone to pick with Torchwood and Sherlock finds his white whale. Possible eventual Johnlock. Established Janto. Pre Towen?
1. Chapter 1

"Lestrade, is this even worth my time? Honestly if it wasn't for the prospect of picking up some fresh fingers when I am here I wouldn't have even have bothered to come" Sherlock muttered as he stripped off his gloves and scarf. A half step behind, John Watson shook his head minutely and tried to stifle a smug cough. He knew that Sherlock was so insufferably bored that he practically dragged the doctor out to catch a cab as soon as he received the text from Lestrade. But Sherlock Holmes was damned if he was going to let on to the the DI that he needed this distraction today.

The trio rounded the last corner before reaching the morgue and almost collided with a blushing Molly Hooper, causing her to drop her clipboard. "Oh hello! I was just stepping out to freshen up a bit. I umm, didn't think you were all still coming to see the body since other arrangements had been made."

"What other arrangements?" Asked the DI, crossing his arms and squinting his eyes.

"Well, the two gentlemen from Cardiff came to collect the body. All the paperwork was in order and they're really quite, umm, nice."

It did not take the expert observational skills of the world's only consulting detective to see the blush rise again fresh in the young woman's cheeks. John had picked up the clipboard for the stuttering pathologist. He glanced at the paperwork then did a double take.

"Torchwood? Where have I heard that name before?"

The word had barely left the doctor's lips before the other two men each swept into motion. Sherlock's eyes lit up in that distinct "Oh! It's Christmas!" way that they sometimes do. He grabbed the clipboard from John's grasp as if he needed to see it himself to know it was real. He flipped through eagerly, another excited gasp rising in a breathless whisper "Harkness!"

The clipboard was hurriedly thrust back at a stunned John. Sherlock was running down the hallway, leaving a very confused Molly and Watson in his wake. However, he was several steps behind Lestrade. And DI Greg Lestrade was charging the door of the morgue with his gun drawn and a deathly grim look.

Trusting Lestrade's lead, John drew his gun and followed, hurriedly motioning to Molly to get back. When he entered the morgue he found Greg barking orders at two men who were almost out the back door to the loading bay with a body bag on a stretcher.

"Get your hands up and keep them there! You so much as breath the wrong way and I will shoot first and ask questions later!"

Sherlock stood on the periphery. John saw Sherlock's sharp silver gaze flickering between gathering information on the two newcomers and trying to surmise what had gotten into the normally cool and professional DI. Just as he was about to start shooting off questions and deductions, Lestrade cut him off.

"Sherlock you'll get your chance but for right now get over there and search them for weapons. John, cover them while I cuff them, and don't hesitate to pull the trigger."

Sherlock was left with his mouth gaping open, the tumble of words stuck in his throat. He was not a man that was used to getting upstaged. But a moment later he was eagerly rifling through their pockets.

John dutifully followed orders (Greg's tone left little room for disagreement) but he did venture to question "Right. Ok. Greg, why are we concerned about the funeral home workers being armed?" But a few moments later, an arsenal consisting of two guns(one that looked like a serviceable antique, the other a cutting edge automatic with all the bells and whistles and then some), one taser, and two cans of what appeared to be black-market mace were clattering onto one of the metal exam tables. All John could muster was "Oh. Okay, not morticians then."

"Torchwood, John!" Sherlock interjected, his eyes flashing to meet John's briefly before going back to his examination of the weapons and other items that he pulled off the duo. John did a double-take at his flatmate and had the distinct thought that this must be what Sherlock looks like high. Everything about him was alight and hyper-stimulated.

The older of the two men, the one with the long coat and the air of authority about him, was making a good attempt to fast-talk Lestrade, but he made no move to interrupt the cuffing. He did, though, noticeably bristle when Lestrade took the precaution of removing the leather-wrapped electronic device from his right wrist.

"Listen officer, I think I can clear up this misunderstanding. If you just call the number that is speed dial #3 on my phone. The nice man on the other end should give you the necessary clearance to allow us to go on our way with our friend in the body bag there."

"First of all, it's Detective Inspector, not officer. Secondly, I don't give a goddamn if it was the queen herself on the other end of that line. You and I are going to have a chat and I am going to get some answers. We'll get to your interest in the dead gentleman in question at some point but I have bigger fish to fry. We're going to start with you telling me what the HELL Torchwood is doing back in London. You're coming with us back to the Yard and you are-" Lestrade was really on a roll when Sherlock interrupted him with what could only be described as a roaring growl.

The DI and the doctor turned to see the consulting detective scowling hard the the man's mobile screen.

"It may as well be the bloody queen. Lestrade we won't have time to get to the Yard. If you want your answers we better to this here. The powers that be may sweep in at any moment." Sherlock explained through clenched teeth as he motioned to the two security cameras in the morgue. He then held up the screen to Lestrade and John. There they both saw the contents of speed dial #3: the initials MH, followed by a number all three of them immediately recognized as the owner's not-highly-publicized direct line.

Author's Note:

So I am back to writing fan fiction! This idea is just one of many I have been harboring for a while. Janto has long since been my muse. They may or may not inspire this caper to turn in the direction of Johnlock. Not sure yet how it will all play out. Mostly I just want to get all my favorite people together to play. Thanks for reading and reviews/questions/comments are always GREATLY appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

Within a few minutes they had reached the nearest thing to an interrogation room that Bart's had to offer. It was a room used by the psychiatry interns. It was outfitted with simple table and chairs. On the wall behind Lestrade was a large one-way mirror. On the side usually occupied by the supervising attending doctor, Sherlock and John looked on. Sherlock was not happy about being relegated to that side of the glass, but Lestrade had rather violently insisted that he got first crack at the questioning himself.

"Names. Now." Said Lestrade in a very controlled tone. Greg was somehow scarier when calm than when yelling.

"Captain Jack Harkness. This is my associate, Ianto Jones. We are here on official Torchwood business in regards to-"

"Here in London from where exactly, because I happen to know first hand that Torchwood's London base was rather, shall we say, abruptly vacated some time ago."

Sherlock saw it through the glass. The younger man, Mr. Jones, squinted and fidgeted minutely. Captain Harkness had simultaneously slightly shifter his posture toward his companion.

"You mean Canary Wharf. That was Torchwood 1. We are with Torchwood 3, located in Cardiff. Still very much alive and kicking." replied Captain Harkness. "What do you know of the events at Canary Wharf, Detective Inspector? A lot of people feel it was a lot of hoopla and a bit of mass hysteria is all." asked Jack in a casual tone.

"Well, Mr. Harkness, I'm not just guessing or taking up the media party line. I was there. I know what I saw. Men made of metal and mutilating innocent office workers into similar monsters. Lot of my mates in the department don't remember it too well. Strange thing, that. I don't suppose you know anything about all the first responders coming up with a touch of amnesia do you, Captain?" Lestrade was leaning forward on the table, hands grasped uncomfortably tight in front of him.

"You certainly seem to be fine, Detective Inspector. Why do you think that is?"

"Figured it had something to do with me being off duty at the time when I got there. No record of me being on the books that day, meant no one tracked me down to change my memories like happened to the on-duty guys. Heard it on the radio when I was in the area and drove over there. Place was locked up tight but I managed to jimmy a back door open."

"You lock-picked your way into Torchwood 1? Not likely." said the formerly-quiet Mr. Jones with an air of disbelief.

"Well, not so much lock-picked as commandeered a fork lift from the loading docks and took a door off." sneered Lestrade.

Sherlock smirked in the dark of the observation room.

"Hmm. Points for initiative, sir." replied the younger man with a soft smile.

Lestrade dropped his voice to an even deadlier register of gravelly disdain. "I would hope you would have the decency to not make light of a massive disaster that left only twenty-odd survivors out of the 823 that went to work at Canary Wharf that day."

"Twenty-seven." Said Ianto Jones.

"Pardon me?"

"There were twenty-seven survivors of Canary Wharf." he explained. His gaze had dropped to the table in front of him, unfocused.

"Oh, so you bothered with counting them, huh? How heart-warming."

Ice-cold blue eyes flashed from the tabletop to cutting through the DI in the timespan of a split-moment. Greg Lestrade's mind readily supplied him with the term "if looks could kill" as being appropriate in that instant.

"Pwy y uffern ydych chi'n meddwl eich bod yn mynd i..." growled the finely suited young man in Welsh.

"Ianto!" Jack interjected in a tone that was both a warning and an expression of solidarity. He then turned back to Lestrade.

"DI Lestrade you'll have to excuse my associate, Mr. Jones. He usually doesn't get so riled up, but I guess we can cut him some slack since he _was one of the 27 survivors in question_."

There was a tense stretch of silence.

Captain Harkness broke first with a glance at the clock on the wall and a sigh of frustration.

"Mr. Tennyson, otherwise known as the deceased man in the bag, came to the attention of a friend of mine, a doctor friend, as having passed away under mysterious circumstances. These circumstances included having his medical records wiped clean all the way down to his childhood immunization records in the NHS database. Also, as the very thorough and lovely Miss Hooper found during her post-mortem, a single syringe prick to the eye, under the lid. It follows the pattern of several more deaths in Cardiff and beyond. We are investigating it all. We were taking Mr. Tennyson back for our doctors to examine."

Even with his hands still cuffed behind his back, when Captain Harkness straightened his back in his chair and leaned in, he managed to carry formidable authority. He donned a wry smile. "Now, as much as have enjoyed basking in the undivided attention of you and your friends behind the glass there, we really do need to get back to Cardiff, and we really need the late Mr. Tennyson to come with us."

Greg Lestrade pulled Jack's phone out of his pocket and slammed it on the table in between them. "How do you know Mycroft Holmes?"

Jack and Ianto exchanged a quick glance and each cocked an eyebrow of surprise. "I suppose we could ask you the same thing. He isn't the kind of guy that does a lot of leg work. I'm surprised he bothers with matters of Scotland Yard. No offense, but he's usually got bigger fish to fry than isolated crimes on the streets of London."

"Let's just say we go way back. Now answer the question Mr. Harkness."

The door to the interrogation room slammed open. The younger Mr. Holmes couldn't contain himself behind the one-way mirror a second longer. "Mycroft Holmes is the government liaison for Torchwood. Isn't that right Captain?"

Jack gave the tall man in the doorway a better head to toe look over than he was able to back in the morgue. He then tilted his head just a bit to the side to also take in the shorter blonde man just behind him. Sherlock didn't react to the raking gaze. If anything he preened a bit and made sure his long coat swung to its full dramatic potential as he crossed the room. John Watson felt something in his stomach do an odd twist when he noticed that Captain Harkness wasn't just appraising Sherlock, he was downright _checking him out_. Dr. Watson quickly chalked up the feeling to the strange protectiveness he felt for his friend.

"So, Captain Harkness, by the accent I would guess American military. Might know some of the same people. I worked side by side with some Americans in Afghanistan." Jack tore his eyes away from Sherlock to politely address John's inquiry.

"Yeah, never Afghanistan for me. I got around though, in my younger days. And you are?" Jack flashed what Ianto often describes as his "Patented Harkness smile" at John.

"Captain John Watson, 5th Northumberland Fusiliers."

"Always nice to meet a fellow Captain!" Jack beamed, "I'd salute you, but, I seem to still be cuffed. Which, Detective Inspector, if entirely unnecessary. Fun under certain circumstances, but this is not one of them."

"If you are truly interested in playing nice, Captain, why don't we all just go over the case of Mr. Tennyson together? You said yourself Ms. Hooper is quite capable and John is a medical doctor. Between both of them and my unique abilities I'm sure we can come up with something." Sherlock used one of the tones that he used when he was acting. This particular character was one that John had nick-named "Amiable Mr. Charming".

"Oh! An MD and a Captain! Aren't we the overachiever Dr. Watson, Sir!" One could hear the salute in Jack's voice and the wink that accompanied it. Sherlock's face turned into a sour scowl. So much for Mr. Charming hanging out for too long.

But instead of ripping into the apparent leader of the duo in cuffs, Sherlock turned to the quieter man. "Tell me, Mr. Jones, does it bother you when your boyfriend hits on everyone that walks in the room?"

"Sherlock..." John started in his "a bit not good" voice. Even though the men were being detained, he didn't like anyone getting the same assumptions make about that that were often made about him and Sherlock. The defensiveness arose up reflexively, much like his own frequent denials. He should have known better than to doubt Sherlock.

"It's alright." sighed Ianto. "It's like breathing for Jack. I'm used to it." Then a second later "Wait, Sherlock? Oh and _that_ Dr. John Watson. Oh. Oh, Jack? This is Sherlock _Holmes._" He turned his attention to John. "My friend Tosh is a big fan of your blog. Sorry I didn't connect the dots earlier."

Jack sighed heavily "Sherlock Holmes as in Mycroft Holmes. It's just never a simple pick-up job is it? Well, listen gents we are on a time frame here and I'd really love to stay but we are needed back in Cardiff. Hope Mycroft doesn't hold too bad of a grudge for this."

"For what?" Lestrade asked.

"For gassing his little brother and his friends." Jack replied smoothly.

Jack rapped the heel of one shoe on the floor, hard, four times in quick succession, followed by knocking it at a sideways angle. The heel popped off his shoe, hovered up to the height of the three standing men (Lestrade had leapt to his feet when the boot first pounded the floor) and then exploded into an instantly opaque cloud of gas.

Lestrade was the first to be out cold, having gasped in surprise when the thing first went off just inches from his face. Sherlock and John both hit the floor holding their breath but each had inhaled at least some during the swift attack. Sherlock felt John grabbing at his sleeve with a quaking hand. Sherlock thought his friend was thrust head-long into a war flashback. He turned his hand and caught John's in his grip. That's what friends are supposed to do, right? Hold hands to give comfort? But he was grabbed firmly and hauled in the direction of the door. There was a loud scraping noise. Sound of the table being kicked in the direction of the exit. Damn. John hit the floor with a thud, still using his waning strength to pull Sherlock along. Sherlock had made it as far as throwing the table out of the way. With one hand knotted in the collar of John's jacket, he reached for the door knob with the other. His fingers slipped over the cool metal handle but Sherlock was unable to will them to close and turn. If he could see through the cloud filling the room, he guessed the room would have been spinning.

"Damn bloody Torchwood" he muttered as he slid down the door.


	3. Chapter 3

They woke up to several of Mycroft's "administrative assistants" hustling them about, giving them each a cursory exam, and then dropping them off at their respective homes to sleep it off. All three men felt like they had been through the ringer twice, and then once more for good measure.

Although Sherlock did actually sleep this time, he was most likely the first to awake. He stared with bleary eyes at the tablet by his bedside, then snatched it up and started scrawling in it like a madman. His head was still too muddled to file directly into his mind palace, so the paper diagram would have to do in the mean time.

"John!" Even from his bed, Sherlock was already bellowing for his flatmate. He couldn't pull himself away from his write up of the event, fragmented as it was. Sherlock knew that John's account of things, in all his ordinariness, would not add much to Sherlock's recollections, but he called for him still. John was occasionally good a pearl or two.

Sherlock heard John heavily padding down the stairs. He smirked. He could practically hear John holding his head like he did only during his worst hangovers.

Sherlock was simultaneously writing, remembering, and formulating and prioritizing the questions he should ask John and Lestrade to get the best information about the situation. John appeared at Sherlock's bedroom door.

"Are you alright?" Asked Sherlock. Wait, what? As John was mumbling his reply, something about pissing matches between men who wear long coats, Sherlock wondered about how that particular question leaped to the front of the queue ahead of much more pertinent ones.

The ever-present soother of 221B was steeped on the counter and wordlessly handed from the doctor to the consulting detective. About an hour later, they were seated in Lestrade's office, this time clutching coffee instead.

They all shared the same symptoms: throbbing headaches, dry throats that nothing seemed to quench, and terribly confused recollection starting sometime after apprehending the two men in the morgue. Over the squalid fare from the Yard's coffee machine, they mapped out the details that each remembered. A phone call to Molly provided confirmed the names, that the two men each had "lovely" blue eyes, and that Mr. Harkness smelled nice. Ms. Hooper was a great pathologist but got downright flustered when attractive men flirted with her. Luckily, she remembered more about the body of Mr. Tennyson than the men that took him. Her written and electronic reports had mysteriously disappeared.

John remembered the make of the old revolver carried by Capt. Harkness because he had connected it to the memory that it was similar to his grandfather's WWII service sidearm. Lestrade had recalled the beat of the heel of the shoe before it rose into the air because it was reminiscent of his favorite Queen song. They were able to recreate a sparse yet decent timeline of the events.

There was one snippet of a memory that he kept rolling around in Sherlock's buzzing brain as he chewed on the coffee stirrer (a poor substitute for a cigarette, a craving made worse by the hint of smoke lingering about Greg, no doubt a stress-induced relapse). The memory was a phrase. The phase was not spoken though, it was tactile. John had teased Sherlock last winter when he spent a week training himself to read engraved text by touch alone. Well, mostly he teased him because it involved sitting in the broom closet for hours on end. The engraving in question that nagged at Sherlock's memory said "make my day". It was so unconnected and it was infuriating.

But maddening bits aside, Sherlock was on cloud nine. He had been chasing the rumors and vanishing leads of Torchwood for ages. It was even better than a cocaine high.

Sherlock always knew that Mycroft had a hand in keeping him from unlocking the Torchwood mystery. The passwords that he "procured" from his brother, or had actually been granted to him on some occasions, seemed to always stop short of the level of clearance that he felt Torchwood existed on. But the evidence was so often there in the lack of evidence. There were witnesses that had holes in their memories, records wiped clean, and too-convenient cover stories. And now Sherlock's theory was confirmed. Not only did Mycroft have a hand in keeping it from Sherlock, he was the British government's liaison to Torchwood, as clearly evidenced by Harkness's phone directory.

Sherlock cut off something John was saying to Lestrade when he interjected with "And why on earth have you never told me about being at Canary Wharf, Lestrade? You kept it from me all these years! Valuable first-hand data just wrapped up in your tiny brain! Such a waste! Although I have to admit I am a bit impressed that you held your cards so close on the topic that even I didn't see it."

Both Greg and John exchanged a look that imparted that neither knew if Greg should be insulted or flattered by Sherlock's outburst. As it happened often, it was a bit of both.

"Sherlock, in my defense, it's not like you go around advertising your interest in the topic. Come to think of it, what was your take on the 'ghosts' and the 'metal men'? Did you deduce it before the rest of us?" Lestrade parried with.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably and averted his eyes. "I was otherwise _indisposed_ at that time." He finally gave Lestrade a quick but hard stare.

John recognized that look on Sherlock, as he was often on the receiving end of it. It was his "if you just think hard enough you will realize you already know this" look. It was a dash condescending and bordered on calling the receiver an idiot. Although John was partly happy for not being the one who it was cast upon, he did feel a bit uncomfortable being left out of the loop.

Lestrade knitted his brow in concentration, but then his face softened as the realization set in. "Oh, right. But they were here for weeks! Surely you couldn't have been, so _indisposed_ the whole time as to not notice at all."

Sherlock shifted in his chair again then spoke through gritted teeth. "It was my last time...it was the worst time. Mycroft tracked me down in Belgium. The last thing I remembered though, I had been in Paris. I detoxed in a private country estate. Just me and the tapestries and a handful of nurses and MD's that fluttered through with pills and food and changed the sheets."

He spoke with a hostile tone, but after the first moment John saw that the aggression was not towards he or Lestrade, but rather himself. Sherlock hated that his affliction led him to missing out on all the fun of a near-successful alien invasion. "There may have been a 'ghost' or two that passed through but I also had visions of an irate Mozart and figures from Greek mythology so I was in no shape to judge what was real or not."

Lestrade nodded silently and took another sip of his cold coffee. "How about you John?"

Although he was not crazy about discussing the topic, John was actually grateful to be able to relieve some of the weight that hung in the air around Sherlock.

"I was in Afghanistan. I spent 30 days huddled in a cave with a dozen other men, waiting for public enemy number 1 to possibly move through the area. We were on radio silence, even had some high-tech stuff that blocked thermal imaging detection. We were in the middle of a desert, basically invisible. Guess we were further off the radar than we thought. Nothing showed up to pay us a visit. Didn't even get hide nor hair of it until after we got air-lifted out."

John looked up from where he had been staring into his empty cup. Sherlock's eyes were sweeping over with such an intensity, as if he was a corpse that had met a terribly interesting demise. But that wasn't quite right. It was also laced with something else. Something softer. Concern? Wonder? Was he picturing John living in the stink of extended close quarters, abrasive sand turning every inch of his skin into rough, dry parchment? Did he see how the waiting and the silence had been driving John insane? What would that John, the parched Captain Watson, have thought if Sherlock had appeared there in the cave, a vision from his future, all silk shirts and smooth, clean alabaster skin and bright, dancing eyes that had just the faintest lines forming at the corners. All cheekbones and violinist's hands and that one unruly bunch of curls over his brow that never fell quite right into place. Would that former John Watson get up and follow him without a word?

John smiled faintly at his friend. He couldn't imagine a time or place now when he wouldn't follow Sherlock Holmes.

Greg Lestrade cleared his throat. The he cleared it again.

John and Sherlock finally looked away simultaneously.

"So what now then? At least as far as the paper trail and evidence goes, I have no real crime to pursue at this point. And with Mycroft's involvement, doubt I'll ever be able to pin them down. Officially, I am out of the game."

"And unofficially?" John asked.

Lestrade leaned in. "Unofficially, let me know anything I can do to help you track those bastards down and bring all their dirty laundry to light. Government sanctioned or not, I don't take well to people who think it is in their rights to mess with people's memories."

"Excellent" Sherlock crooned.

Sherlock proceeded to spend the next several hours conducting internet and records searches on the Yard's computers. Every thirty minutes or so, he would switch to another work station, logged in under a different Yarder's account. Sally Donovan bristled when it was her turn to give up her computer to Sherlock. With an icy look from Lestrade, she acquiesced. She turned 3 shades of red when he logged into her account without having to ask for her password first.

John caught sight of this as he was delivering a fresh cup of tea and a bag of crisps to Sherlock.

"Do I want to know what her password is, considering how badly she was blushing?" John asked while settling in across from Sherlock with a fresh pile of files.

"That depends, doctor. How much do you want to know about what Anderson calls Sally when they are in bed together?" Sherlock asked without looking up.

"Never mind I asked." John replied with a sour look. "Drink your tea. It'll sooth your sore throat a bit."

A mere few hours later, Sherlock and John entered their private compartment on the train to Cardiff. John just finished stuffing both of their overnight bags into the proper storage spaces, as Sherlock was too busy on his smart phone to be arsed to take care of it himself.

John finally let himself fall into the seat across from Sherlock with a heavy sigh.

"So," he started, finding that he had to clear his throat again. It was better than it was earlier, but still quite dry and sore. "We're just going to get off the train in Cardiff and start wandering around the city, with luggage mind you, and wait for someone to pop up and tell us where we can find a more-than-top-secret government agency headquarters is located?"

"Nonsense, John, I know exactly where to start." Sherlock replied with a wry smile.

After a few too many moments of silence, John huffed in exasperation. "You're going to make me actually ask, aren't you? Okay then. Sherlock, where in Cardiff are we starting our search?"

Sherlock smiled wider and even more wickedly. "Why where everyone starts out in a new city, John. The tourist information center!"


	4. Chapter 4

Ianto didn't spend much time in the tourist office anymore actually. When he wasn't out on missions, in the archives, or tending to the upkeep of the Hub, he was often found in Jack's office doing paperwork (Jack's paperwork) or just generally keeping Jack company when he was wading through the obligatory government agency phone calls. But Dr. Martha Jones was in town, and so Ianto cleared out in order to allow the old friends to visit with one another. The archives were out because the previous week level 6 flooded. Ianto spent hours on end in the dank shin-deep mess salvaging what he could. If he never saw those pair of waders again it would be too soon. So, working at the computer in the tourist office it was.

He was just moving onto his third and final stack of files (circa 1895) for scanning into the modern database when the little brass bell over the door tinkled its alert that someone had arrived.

"What can I help you with today," Ianto looked up and his voice trailed off. "Oh. It's you two." He deadpanned.

"You were expecting us, then?" John asked in a bit of bewilderment. He was quite surprised to see Mr. Jones standing behind the desk of the dusty hole-in-the-wall tourist office, and almost equally surprised to see that Mr. Jones was not surprised to see them. Sherlock, of course, just looked pleased with himself.

"Pardon me, where are my manners" Replied Ianto Jones as he straightened his waistcoat and started to put on his suit coat over it. "If I seem less than enthused it is simply because I just lost the pool on when you would find us, Mr. Holmes. I had tomorrow afternoon's time slot."

As he said this he also slid an impressive hand-gun out from under his unassuming countertop and quickly holstered it in the back of his belt before then saying "If you will follow me, gentlemen."

A false wall slid out of the way to reveal a hidden hallway. Mr. Jones motioned for them to follow.

"Who won the bet then?" Sherlock asked as they walked along the damp corridor.

"Owen, I believe."

They came to an elevator and all entered.

Mr. Jones briefly looked unsure of himself, then turned abruptly to Sherlock.

"Before we join the others, if I may ask, how did you know?"

"How did I know where to find you? Well it was really rather..."

"No, actually, although I'm sure everyone would love to hear about that. I mean, how did you know about me and Jack. How did you know we were together?" The young man in the tailored suit suddenly seemed to find his shoes very interesting. The question he posed was not on behalf of his role at Torchwood. It was his own question.

"Hmmm. Well my memory is a little fuzzy on the topic." Sherlock responded coldly.

"Yeah, sorry for that." Said Mr. Jones with a wince.

Sherlock let the silence stretch for only a few seconds. In the end, genius did love an audience more than Sherlock liked holding a grudge.

"From what I can recall, Captain Harkness's posture was always just slightly turned in your direction. Also, whenever you were talking, he allowed his gaze to stray from your face to the red mark on your neck, the perimeter of which was just barely visible at the edge of your collar. When he did so his pupils would quickly dilate. Who else would not only notice but also get excited about the subtle love bite besides the one who put it there. And lastly, it was your socks."

"My socks?" Asked Ianto with a knitted brow. They were out of the elevator and approaching a large, round door.

"Not your individual socks, but both of your pairs of socks. They were the same fabric and brand. The rest of Captain Harkness's attire is functional army surplus and durable cottons. The socks were silk, clearly more suited to your style. When does a boss where his employee's socks? When he stays over at his flat and forgets to bring an extra pair along."

The huge, heavy cog-shaped door was rolling open. Mr. Jones straightened his suit coat, back to business again, but not before breathing a quick "That was brilliant."

"And that's John's line." Sherlock replied.

The three men stepped through the door.

"Gentlemen, welcome to Torchwood 3 headquarters. Or as we call it, the Hub."

John looked around and then up, quite far up actually. He hadn't realized that the elevator had taken then so deep under street level. He could smell moisture in the air and could hear dripping water coming from somewhere. Of course that made sense, considering that this underground lair was just a few hundred yards from Mermaid Quay. John felt a nervous and excited giggle bubbling up.

"We're in a _lair_" he thought to himself.

John reached a hand out to catch the sleeve of Sherlock's Belstaff, just to give it a tug, as words had escaped him. When the two finally tore their eyes away from the immense structure too share a quick look, John saw that Sherlock was pulling his very best "I'm actually not impressed" face. But John knew better. Tucked beneath relaxed lashes and one eye brow quirked into "don't bore me" position, Sherlocks eyes were alight with excitement. Mr. Jones stepped ahead of them to lead them up a metal stair case. John tried to follow Sherlock's lead and not show his astonishment. But halfway up the stairs Sherlock grabbed John's hand and gave it a quick squeeze then turned his eyes pointedly upward and flashed a brief but genuine smile. John followed his gaze and saw

"Dear God is that a flying dinosaur!?"

Sherlock sighed heavily. Without having to look, John could hear the eye roll that accompanied it.

"Ah! Dr. Watson! Mr. Holmes! And yes, doctor, that is a genuine flying dinosaur. We call her Myfanwy. She's our guard dog of sorts. Does tricks and everything. Wanna show them Ianto?"

"Fresh out of chocolate at the moment, sir."

"Chocolate? The dinosaur likes chocolate? Of course it does. And I thought bloody Baskerville was bad." John said in a high, manic voice to no one in particular.

"Captain Harkness, is there somewhere we can meet, I believe John needs to sit down." Sherlock asked.

"I'm fine Sherlock" John rebutted.

"John" Sherlock fixed John with a pointed stare, then looked down to their hands. Their hands were joined still from when Sherlock took hold to get John's attention. John was holding on with a white knuckle grip. He let go quickly.

"Sorry" He muttered and withdrew his hand quickly.

"It's fine" Sherlock responded in a softer tone than usual.

"The team is already assembled in the conference room, gentlemen. Tosh caught your arrival in the CCTV feed."

John got himself composed as they continued up the stairs to the room where the rest of "the team" was awaiting them.

Ianto entered behind them and crossed directly to the only other male in the room, handing the shorter man with sharp features a twenty pound note, who in turn pocketed it with an air of smugness.

"This is Dr. Owen Harper, our medic and pathologist, depending on how the day is going" said Jack.

He then motioned to the Asian woman with glasses and a ready smile "Toshiko Sato, resident wicked genius."

"Jack!" She reprimanded with embarrassment and a nervous laugh, suddenly transformed from composed programmer to a shy school girl.

"Next is Gwen Cooper, formerly of the Cardiff Police Department" The petite brunette did a mock salute but then leaned across the table for a warm handshake. John returned it, Sherlock did not.

"And this nightingale is our other guest, courtesy of UNIT, the lovely Dr. Martha Jones. She brought the case of these mysterious deaths to our attention in the first place."

The beautiful doctor looked up from where she was reviewing records with Dr. Harper to grace them both with a startling smile and a "Hello".

Jack addressed his crew "This, though I am sure they need no introduction, is Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson."

"Freaking fabulous. Another bloody doctor. We are simply awash in excess medical personnel this week." griped Dr. Harper.

"Oh don't mind him" said Ms. Sato "He's just been up for too many hours and he's getting testy about sharing his precious lab. Also," she leaned in and stage-whispered to John "he's trying hard not to get all fan-girly around you two. He's the one who turned on the rest of us to your blogs."

"I am not a fan-girl!" exclaimed Owen. Simultaneously Sherlock inquired pointedly "blog_s_?"

"Oh yeah," continued Tosh, ignoring the dirty look from Owen. "We all get email alerts whenever Dr. Watson posts updates, and Owen and I also follow your 'Science of Deduction' website. In fact, your explanations of how you formed some of your deductions inspired one of the search programs I am working on."

Sherlock replied with a "Hmm" that actually managed to sound impressed and flattered. He then threw a small smirk to John that wordlessly but very clearly translated to "I told you people read my website, too."

John couldn't help but chuckle.

"Gentlemen, can I offer you each a refreshment? I can imagine the effects of the drug have left your throats rather raw even after a almost a day. I had the unfortunate privilege of being an unwilling test subject when Owen was first developing the aerosol version of Retcon." Offered Mr. Jones, a scowl briefly directed at Dr. Harper.

"Ha! Yeah! It was a slow day so I basically threw a cherry bomb of the stuff into the archives. He was unconscious for 4 hours and woke up complaining about 'Now I don't know where I left off!'" Giggled Owen, ending with a very poor Welsh accent.

"Oi! Ever heard about 'informed consent' _Dr._?" Rounded Ianto, actually letting his temper show through.

"Oh calm down Tea-boy! I was fairly sure it was stable!"

"_Fairly _sure!?"

"Ianto, he did stay and take your vitals every 15 minutes." added Toshiko in a placating tone.

Ianto looked to her and calmed slightly, breathed heavily through his nose once, then conceded "Well, water under the bridge now. Or should I say it was decaf for 2 months under the bridge." Ianto ignored Owen's mouthing of the words "I knew it!" pointed in his direction and turned back to the Hub's two esteemed guests.

"So, gentlemen, coffee or tea? Water?"

John thought tea sounded lovely and was about to say so when Sherlock replied "Coffee. Get the coffee John. By the state of the fresh grounds of a rare bean around Mr. Jones's cuticles and the slight callous at the web of his thumb, the man clearly knows his way around a barista machine. John takes his black, no sugar. Black, two sugars for me, thanks."

Ianto raised his eyebrows slightly, nodded and exited to fulfill the drink order. John saw the younger man steal a look at his own hand on the way out the door.

"So Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, are you here just to get the twenty-five cent tour of the Hub and then be on your way, or would you like to make yourselves useful on this case we are working on?" Asked Jack.

All eyes turned to Sherlock, including John's. John was still skeptical if they should even be willing to drink the kindly-offered beverages given that last time they encountered Torchwood they were thoroughly drugged, never mind working with them on an investigation. He saw Sherlock's wheels turning. The plan had been to find Torchwood, get as much info on their operation as possible, and then possibly release it to the public. It was for the purpose of (on John and Lestrade's part) letting the public know about this potentially dangerous entity in their midst. On Sherlock's part, it was the thrill of knowing things that very few others were privy to, and, being able to really stick it to Mycroft for keeping it from him all those years. But this offer had not factored into their original plan. Sherlock met John's eyes. His mouth twitched up just a hair on one side. John knew the answer before Sherlock issued it. As always with Sherlock, John was in for a penny, in for a pound.

Always.


	5. Chapter 5

As Doctors Jones and Harper pulled the two bodies out of cold storage for Sherlock and John to look over, Gwen and Jack took the consulting detective and his blogger for a tour of the Hub. They were given a cursory explanation of the rift manipulator, followed by Sherlock stunning even Toshiko with his astute and in depth questions. They tossed formulas back and forth for a few minutes as Sherlock casually wandered around the work stations of the open floor plan, twiddling with the personal items he found there. John had to physically take things out of his hands several times. Before moving onto the armory, Jack cleared his throat in an obvious manner and pointed a look at Sherlock's pocket. Sherlock responded with a shrug and an aloof expression. John sighed and reached into Sherlock's pocket, removing the piece of alien tech that Sherlock had lifted from Gwen's desk.

When they arrived at the armory, due to Sherlock's recently demonstrated habit of having sticky fingers, John was the only one permitted to enter while Sherlock was left hovering in the doorway. It was John's turn to shine then. With a permissive nod from Jack, John hefted a large strange-looking rifle to his good shoulder and instinctually found the correct hand placement for the three separate settings before Jack was able to give the full explanation.

"Funny," said John "Seems like this thing was designed for someone with six or seven fingers instead of the factory-issued five."

Jack tossed him an impressed glance. "Depends on the factory in question." Jack muttered to Gwen.

"Sorry, what was that?" John asked.

"I said if we have time later I could take you down to the shooting range and show you all the special features on this bad boy. You see the trick is too..." Jack sidled up behind John, his chest nearly flush to John's back, reaching to lay his hands over John's on the weapon.

"John! Please don't dawdle! More to see including getting down to the med bay to review the bodies within this lifetime." Shouted Sherlock from the doorway. Although he spoke to John, he glowered at Jack.

They went through the green house next. Sherlock nearly got his fingers bit off by a flower with teeth when he unknowingly did something considered impolite to the plant's thorny shoots. As Gwen, while she fought a case of the giggles, apologized profusely for not warning Sherlock, John impulsively knicked about a half-dozen seeds from a small pile on the counter. Lord only knew what they would grow into, but he figured it was a good investment in some sanity on a future day when Sherlock was bored.

Lastly they were ushered to a lower level. With a flick of a wall switch, the interior lights of a row of clear-front cells flickered to life. The air of mirth that had formerly been creeping in retreated from both Sherlock and John as if they had been doused with ice water.

John straightened his back and his voice was laced with menace. "Okay. I know you said you operate above the law and the government, but how the hell do you get off having your own prison in your basement. I certainly don't see any judges or juries around to offer due process."

Gwen Cooper responded this time. "Captain Watson," she started slowly, "the kind of inmates we keep here are the kind that aren't fit for the city jails. I think it's best that you see for yourselves."

Gwen walked down the damp corridor and stopped in front of the one at the end of the hallway. A shadow shifted inside the cell. Sherlock approached next. As soon as he came within eyeshot of the contents of the cell, something behind the glass wall snarled and threw itself at the glass, a mess of violence, but was then gone in a flash before John could get a good look. Sherlock had flinched back momentarily, but then stepped up to mere inches before the floor to ceiling window. He was transfixed.

"John..." he beckoned "it's incredible."

The sheer awe and wonder in Sherlock's face got John's feet moving to meet him. Focused on how youthful and wonderfully not-bored his friend looked, John almost forgot to look into the cell until he was right next to Sherlock.

In the split-second timeframe when John was mid-action in turning his head, John caught wind of a hot, fetid stench. They say that smell is the sense that it the most hard-wired into triggering memories. As the scent hit John's brain, a neural storm of flight or fight was set off. When he laid his eyes on the teeth-baring, disfigured face within the cell, the rest of his body was already in motion.

With a crunching thud Sherlock found himself thrown back against the moss-laden stone wall opposite the cell, John's arm like steel across his torso and holding him in place. John was partially in front of Sherlock, acting as a shield. His gun was drawn on the creature behind the glass.

John was repeating, in various combinations and peppered with colorful language, "It's real! It's bloody fucking real! Sherlock, stay back!"

Jack and Gwen had their hands up in placating and defensive gestures. Sherlock did take note though that Jack's right hand hovered a bit too close to his own holster. Sherlock tuned them out and focused on John. A cold sweat had already broke out on his brow. His respirations were elevated and shallow. Panic attack taking hold. But what shook Sherlock, was that he saw John's "bad knee" giving out. If he hadn't been leaning into Sherlock so hard to pin him against the wall, John may have been toppled to the floor by the sudden flair of his psychosomatic injury already. Sherlock brought one hand up to John's back. John gave a start but only for a second. It seemed to stutter John's rambling.

"Sherlock. Sher...it's real. Do you see it?"

Sherlock slid his hand up to the back of John's bare neck. The skin to skin contact seemed to ground and calm John a bit. Sherlock spoke calmly, "Yes, John. It is real. But it can't hurt you anymore. It is contained and we are safe. Lower you gun John."

John slowly lowered his gun. He collapsed back against the wall, Sherlock's arm pinned behind his back and his hand still squeezing John's nape. John slowed his breathing deliberately.

Jack approached the glass where the creature was clawing at the window, riled up by all the commotion. Harkness shot a burst of what looked like mace through one of the ventilation holes. The creature shook its head, moaned, and retreated to the back shadowy corner of its cell.

"It's called a weevil, or at least that's what we call them." Jack explained, arms crossed and leaning with his back against the cell. "Remember when we told you about the rift through Cardiff? Well these guys are like the rats of the universe. They tend to slip through a lot of cracks. Sometimes I wonder if when they show up here, it isn't the result of some distant exterminator trying to dump their pest problems on us. They mostly stick to the sewers and scavenge. But occasionally they come up and hunt. When they cross that line, they end up here with us."

"You've seen one before then, John?" Gwen asked with concern in her voice. "Were you attacked by one in London? I know a few hitch a ride there sometimes on train cars and barges..."

"No it wasn't London. John feels no fear of things lurking in shadows and bumps in the night in London. Plus, his leg is giving out. It was in Afghanistan. And not just any old patrol in Afghanistan, you saw a weevil when you were shot, yes?"

"Y-Yes. Ella tried to tell me it was a hallucination I had when I was bleeding out. I wanted so badly for her to be right." John breathed out. Where John's arm was still splayed across Sherlock's chest, he pulled his weight away and slowly stood on his own accord. But his hand still fisted into the lapel of Sherlock's coat as the time stretched on.

When John finally released his grip, only then did Sherlock's hand, slick with sweat from covering John's neck, also slide away. John shivered once, both from the last of the panic attack ebbing away and from the too-cold and too-exposed feel to his neck, as if something was now missing that really belonged there. He finally tore his eyes away from the creature that appeared to have fallen asleep in the dark corner of its dirty cell. John looked to Sherlock. Sherlock studied him hard. It felt so odd. Here they were, in the secret jail of a secret base, about a dozen meters away from an actual alien, and Sherlock was staring at _John_.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, thanks." replied John.

Sherlock nodded, tipped his head toward the open door at the end of the corridor that they had first entered through. As they walked, John realized that they were alone. He had no idea how long he had spent frozen there. Jack and Gwen left without him even noticing. Sherlock had stayed with him. Despite his ordeal in that hallway, John walked out of it smiling.

Halfway to the med bay, the detectives came across Harkness and Jones. Ianto handed John a steaming cup of strong black coffee.

"Thought you might need this, sir." said the younger man.

"Ta" said John. This was followed by an appreciative moan after he took his first sip. Sherlock raised his eye brows in a "told you so" gesture.

"Ianto and I have been trying to figure out how a weevil ended up in Afghanistan, John." said Jack.

"My money is on the Americans, sir. Remember when I first started here and there was that military conference in town that you attended? The one general kept trying to get you to invite him down into the Hub, asked specifically about the weevils. Mentioned something about how the boogiemen could be useful in flushing the insurgents out of the mountain caves. Susie thought he was going to offer to empty our cells for us. It wasn't a week later that you all were heading out to round up that pod of weevils that were causing trouble in the tube stations, only to find that they were gone. I bet he got tired of waiting and rounded up his own bunch."

"Makes sense. How do you remember these things Ianto?"

"I know everything, sir."

"Have you ever heard of mind-mapping, Mr. Jones?"

"Sorry, what?" said Ianto.

Sherlock stopped and gave him a hard stare, then kind that makes Scotland Yard sergeants shake in their shoes. Mr. Jones met Sherlock's scrutiny with a relaxed blink and helped himself to a drink from the striped mug he plucked from Jack's hand without looking, ignoring the annoyed yet endeared response it earned from the Captain.

"Never mind" Sherlock drew out slowly.

They arrived at the med bay. Sherlock stepped up to the bodies. "Tell me what you know so far." He ordered in the general direction of Martha and Owen.

_Author's Note:_

_Thanks so much for reading so far! I know that cross-overs don't get as much readership as other stories, so I especially appreciate your interest in my little tale. Sorry it has been a little light on actual plot at time. I just love getting al my favorite people to interact. When I first started envisioning this fic, Lestrade's presence at Canary Wharf and John's past interaction with a weevil were some of my favorite ideas. I have a few more twists and turns and nuggets planned as the end game is taking shape. If you feel moved to leave a review, please know that I do absolutely love to get those alerts. It keeps me writing! Questions and constructive criticism are always welcome!_


	6. Chapter 6

Martha was just about to start her explanation of the case when Owen cut her off.

"Not so fast, Holmes. I've been reading your website and John's and I know what you can do. We've all been dying to know. How did you find the Hub? C'mon...I'll show you mine if you show me yours." Owen wagged his eyebrows suggestively while he held a firm grip on the sheet covering the body closest to Sherlock and John.

Sherlock looked to John and rolled his eyes, but John knew the display of petulance was just for show.

"Go ahead, you know you want to." Said John. "You've left me in the dark all the way here so I wouldn't mind knowing myself" he added after another sip of coffee.

Sherlock's lip curled up on just the one side.

"I must admit you all have been very successful hiding in plain sight all these years. The internet chatter pins your base to somewhere in Cardiff, roughly in the waterfront area, but there's not much beyond that. Same thing with anything connected with Captain Harkness. You find his name here and there, but it's so much fact and fiction and fantasy intermingled that it's difficult to distinguish one from the other. It actually all came down to Mr. Jones."

"Ianto? How? We're in Wales! His name might as well be John Smith. And he has little to no life outside of the Hub!" asked Owen.

"It is true that the name is very common. However, using the Yard's ability to search public records, such as those of, say, civil employees, and then narrowing those results by age and general location..."

"Bugger" Ianto mumbled into his coffee mug.

"Ianto, what am I missing here? Are you moonlighting as a postal service worker or something?" Jack asked.

"No," Sherlock said. "He is the sole employee of the Mermaid Quay branch of the Tourist Information Bureau. May I now Dr. Harper?" Sherlock asked, wrapping an index finger around the edge of one of the sheets, the one covering the first victim that Tosh and Owen had discovered on a weevil hunt.

"Yeah, whatever," said Owen off-handedly.

Ianto saw all eyes in the med bay and of those leaning on the railing above trained on him. He sighed heavily. "A few months back a guy came into the Tourist Office. He was surprised to find it because, as it turned out, he was an administrator with the Tourist Bureau. He asked a bunch of questions about how long I had been there and how things were going. I fed him a few lines and sent him on his way. Well a few days after that, I get a letter delivered addressed to me via the tourist office address. It was employment paperwork. And things like requests for expense records, and procedures for ordering updated pamphlets. I guess the guy was so embarrassed at their oversight he decided to cover his tracks by making sure there was a paper trail. Rather than track him down with a dose of retcon and have to search their whole system for every email and not to mention the multiple hard copies circulating through their home office on the matter, I figured it was just easier to go along with it. I thought it would be good to have a more legitimate front to our fake front office." Ianto ended with a shrug.

"Wait, so you mean to tell me you are getting an actual paycheck from the Tourist Bureau?" Jack asked. "What do you do with the extra money?"

"Well, most of it goes right into education trust funds for my niece and nephew." Ianto said, finishing off his coffee.

"And the rest?" Gwen asked.

Ianto snickered. "Someone once told me that he preferred me in silk. It's not a cheap habit to keep up." He sauntered off.

"Right then!" Jack added with a quick clap of his hands while clearing his throat. "What have you got for us Mr. Holmes?"

Sherlock had perused both bodies and had flipped through the lab reports from the tests that Owen and Martha had conducted thus far. He handed off the medical reports to John.

"What do you make of the Ammonium Hydroxide, Doctor?"

"I think it's an odd way to kill someone. It's more like a system flush, as if they were covering something up."

"Very good, Dr. Watson." said Dr. Jones. "Owen and I came up with the same working hypothesis. But we don't have a baseline to start from because the victim's medical records were wiped so clean that even Tosh is having a hard time getting to the bottom of it. And then there is our third victim who got away from her attacker before he was able to inject her."

Martha handed Marie's file over to John. Sherlock crowded over John's shoulder to read the report. John didn't seem to mind.

"Everything with her test results checks out within normal parameters. Nothing seems to be amiss with her that would need covering up." John replied.

"Yeah, she's so normal she's abnormal." Owen added.

Sherlock's head snapped up from the reports. "Say that again." he commanded.

"She's so normal she's abnormal?" Owen repeated.

"Did you confiscate the attack survivor's clothing and belongings as evidence when you were at the hospital?"

"Yeah..." Owen replied.

"Give them to me, now. Did you even look through them? Of course not. A team of doctors and they think that they only way to find out about a person't medical history is from their medical records or by asking the patient." Sherlock mocked.

"Sherlock..." John warned.

"I didn't mean _you_, John. You would have had enough sense by now to not just trust what the victim says. Almost everybody lies."

Sherlock's eyes lit up as he found an appointment book in Marie's purse. He dove and flipped through pages. His eyes danced over the pages in a display of nearly super-human speed-reading. John pecked through Marie's clothing but didn't find anything of use, moved on to the rest of her purse.

"Ah!" Sherlock exclaimed with a gasp.

Before he could explain his discovery, Ianto interjected. "Jack, there has been another attack. Body was found in the a park, student, Barry Leonard. Medical records have already been wiped clean."

Almost simultaneously, Owen's cell phone chimed. He furrowed his brow "Text from the unit nurse I left my number with. Marie just had some sort of violent seizure."

"Okay, Martha, Owen, get to the hospital and check on your patient. Gwen, Ianto, go work your magic with the local PD and bring us back that body. Sherlock, John, crime scenes are your thing, right? Why don't you two tag along with Gwen and Yan to check out the evidence at the scene."

Owen and Martha were already heading out the door, their respective medical bags in hand. Sherlock made a face at the notion of him "tagging along" with anyone. John knew that if they were back in London he would have done his usual "we'll follow in a cab" routine, but his curiosity got the better of him. Before heading out, Sherlock tucked Marie's appointment book into his coat pocket and thrust her purse at John to carry. Sherlock barely lifted his eyes from his iPhone as he scrolled through numerous websites.

When the detectives settled into the back seat of the Torchwood SUV, John let out a long whistle at all the tech that was loaded into the small space. Sherlock raised one eyebrow at the impressive display but then dropped his eyes fervently back to his own small screen again.

Gwen was chatting on her mobile with someone from the local PD, setting groundwork for their arrival at the scene. Ianto drove silently but at a good clip. John dug through Marie's mess of a huge handbag for a few minutes before finally unfolding one small paper and then passing it to Sherlock.

"Yes! Wonderful! John, call the pharmacy on the receipt and work your MD magic on seeing what Marie was taking and when she stopped picking up her prescriptions."

John nodded and rang up the pharmacy. After a few minutes of buttering up the pharmacy tech and giving his medical license number to access the information, John hung up. Just as he opened his mouth to speak...

"You are about to tell me that the medication was for serious and incurable illness and that Marie abruptly stopped picking up her maintenance medication just a few weeks ago." Sherlock said with a small wry grin.

"Yes! How did you..." John started.

"We're here boys." said Gwen. "Let me do the talking with the police. Ianto bring over one of our body bags and the stretcher. Sherlock and John, we need to keep this quick so do what you do but don't get in the way and don't mess with the local cops too much. They are often on edge enough when we roll up."

Gwen stopped to chat with a policeman, Ianto dutifully pausing a step behind her. Sherlock continued right past Gwen, snatching the earpiece coms link she wore on the way. The "Oi!" that Gwen sent after him did not slow Sherlock. He walked with such imperious authority (and arriving in a Torchwood car didn't hurt) that no one dared to stop him as he approached the area of the body, lifting the police tape for John to follow him.

He secured the link behind his ear and started swiftly examining the body of the young man in the dirt. "Owen Harper! Are you there?" Barked Sherlock in a tone that was reminiscent of speaking to an older relative whom one assumed was hard of hearing.

Across town, jogging down a hospital hallway, Owen tapped his coms link and replied with an incredulous "Holmes? What the hell are you doing on the com? Is everything okay?"

"Yes of course everything is fine. Gwen let me, umm, borrow her ear thing. Anyway, have you met with Marie yet?" Sherlock asked, followed by his gesturing to the nasal passages on the deceased young man to John with a "what do you make of it?" eye squint.

"Martha and I are one turn away from her room, why? What do you have for me?"

"Ask her about her HIV status and when she was cured."

Owen Harper came to a dead stop in the middle of the hospital hallway, resulting in Martha almost colliding with him. He took a steadying breath.

"Right then." he replied, then continued on to Marie's room.

Sherlock removed the coms link from his ear and chucked it over his shoulder to Gwen.

"Did I hear you just tell Owen that Marie was cured of her HIV?" Ianto asked as he unfurled the body bag.

"Yes, do keep up Mr. Jones. John, tell me what you see."

John straightened up from where he examined the dead man's face. "You were right Sherlock, signs of recent cocaine abuse damage to the mucus membranes in his nose. Looks to be only recent though, not significant long term damage. Smells of alcohol too, but looks overall healthy so not a long-term alcoholic. Oh, and the needle mark to the eye is unmistakable. He's one of our victims."

"So, recent drug and alcohol use onset. Maybe he received bad news? Took up the bad habits to deal with the stress?" Gwen ventured.

John had moved on to a cursory exam of the rest of the young man's body. When he lifted his shirt a bit, John noticed a small scar that was immediately familiar to him. He knew it because it was from something that he had installed for some of his patients before.

"I don't think it was bad news, I think it was good news. Sherlock you said Marie was cured of her HIV? Well if I'm not mistaken, I think our victim here recently had an insulin pump removed. Medical records wiped or not, scars don't lie."

Sherlock's smile grew, partly from the fun of the puzzle and partly for his vicarious pride in John's deduction. "Neat."

Ianto tapped the coms link on his ear. "Yes Owen?"

A second later he deftly slapped Sherlock's hand away from procuring his ear piece as the detective had done to Gwen earlier. He also fixed Sherlock in the ice-cold glare that he perfected that often was followed by threats of decaf.

"Ianto, Marie is dead." Owen reported, sounding winded himself. "She seized almost right after we arrived in her room. She did confirm Sherlock's conclusion of being cured of her HIV. She only got out a few more words before she flatlined. And then things got weirder. Meet us back at the Hub."

_Author's Note:_

_So I am taking some liberties with the progression of the original plot of the TW episode "Reset". Some portions happened slower (to accommodate getting John and Sherlock from London to Cardiff) and some are now happening all at once. Oh, and I killed off Marie a few minutes early so Sherlock could show off. :) _

_Thanks all for reading and favoriting it so far! I have been wanting to write this bit about Ianto and he tourism bureau for a while now. Please do leave reviews or questions or constructive criticisms if you feel moved to do so! _


	7. Chapter 7

The Torchwood team, plus John and Sherlock and the visiting Dr. Jones, assembled in the conference room to receive the update from Owen and Martha about what they learned from Marie before her death. Marie had confirmed Sherlock's deduction that she had been cured of her HIV infection. Marie had attributed it to the drug called "Reset", but that was all that she got out before flat-lining.

"Reset, Obviously." Sherlock drawled. "That unidentified substance that you had found in her bloodstream from the initial tests."

Just as Ianto arrived with their extra large order of Chinese food, the image of the alien parasite, dozens of which flew from Marie's body after her death, was cast up on the screen. They all marveled at the beauty of the strange creature as well as the terrible irony of how it cured the host's ails only to kill them as it developed inside them.

"Still gives me shivers." whispered Martha to Gwen. "I've seen a lot of stuff in my time but I think I'll have nightmares about those little guys crawling up my nostrils or in my hair for weeks!"

"When you two are done giggling like school girls and the rest of you are done shoveling dim sum in your faces, perhaps I can hear about the rest of the details." Said Sherlock. His empty plate laid before him as if accusing the others of gluttony. John swallowed a large bite and put down his chopsticks.

"That's it. That's all we've got. There is no drug called 'Reset' or one that has that particular chemical make-up cited in any recent papers or research applications. Without knowing where the clinical trials of this stuff are being done, there it no way to track it down." replied Owen with a tone that indicated that he did not appreciate being mocked for lack of thoroughness.

Sherlock pushed back from the table on his rolling chair. He straightened his posture and but tucked both legs as if preparing to meditate. His eyes stared ahead but lost focus.

He waved his hand dismissively and said "Leave me! I need to go to my mind palace. Hopefully, thanks to the information that John and I gathered during the investigation, there will be enough to go on."

Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin.

John Watson rolled his eyes and waited for the inevitable question.

"I'm sorry, your what?" Gwen ventured.

John took an inhale in preparation to explain, but Ianto Jones beat him to the punch.

"It's a memory tool. It's a way of mapping information into different areas of the brain, like storing things in files in a hard drive, but always with a trail of breadcrumbs. In essence, if done right, you won't ever forget anything. But it may take a while to track down the right trail of crumbs."

"SSShhhhhhhh!" Said Sherlock, breaking the spell of his concentration. "Correct, but ssshhhhhhhh!"

John rose. "Captain Harkness, can we borrow your office for a bit?"

"Have at it gentleman, just don't do anything I wouldn't do." He snickered.

"That's a pretty short list, Jack." muttered Ianto whilst removing the napkin that was protecting his suit from splatters of soy sauce. He held the door to Jack's office open with an accommodating grin.

John gripped the back of Sherlock's chair and wheeled him right on through. Although it was an undignified form of transport, Sherlock didn't seem to mind. A moment later John re-appeared and quickly grabbed a container of lo mein.

"This could take a a few minutes or a few hours. And he usually starts talking to me when he comes out of it, even if I'm not in the room, so I better..." the doctor trailed off as he joined Sherlock and then shut the door behind him.

Everyone ate in comfortable silence for some length of time, flipping through the info on their computers and pointing things out to each other. Gwen started getting fidgety, glancing at the door to Jack's office a few times.

"Soooo..." she started in an overly-casual tone. "What do we think of the other mystery in our midst?" She received a few confused gazes and a few knowing ones in return.

"C'mon!? Are they a couple or no? I can't be the only one wondering, right?"

"I've always said no. Based on John's blog, he's dated women. But he hasn't wrote anything along those lines in a while. And now, seeing them together..." said Tosh.

"Do you think anyone could stand being in a relationship with that wanker, though?" asked Owen, who was clearly no longer as big of a fan of the detective.

"What do you think, Jack? This is more your department, yeah?" asked Martha.

Jack leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. He gave a thoughtful look towards the closed door of his office. "They remind me of relationships forged in the heat of battle. They are clearly really close. Have a kind of unspoken communication. Protective. Possessive even. Romance? Not sure yet. Maybe they aren't sure yet. But soul mates of some form or another? I'd place good money on it."

Ianto shot him a confused look.

"What?" said Jack.

"You believe in soul mates? You?" asked Ianto.

"Yeah! And you don't?" posed Jack in return, bordering on defensive.

The door of Jack's office burst open. "Pharm! Computer! Now!"

Sherlock had his hands on Tosh's keyboard before she even properly cleared out of her seat.

"What about a farm, now?" asked Gwen.

"Not 'farm' with an 'f', 'pharm' as in 'pharmaceuticals. Do keep up. In Marie's planner, right before she stopped going to her HIV support group meetings, she had a notation simply marked "Ph". I was able to make the connection through an article I once read about the founder, a Dr. Aaron Copeland, who is a leader in his field in..."

"Immunology! Yeah, I cited his work in my doctoral thesis quite a bit." interjected Owen.

"And where is the Pharm located? Why just outside of Cardiff of course." ended Sherlock, just as the facility's website popped up on the wall screen.

Sherlock relinquished Toshiko's computer back to her as he paced the room. She tried to access the Pharm's network but to no avail. If they could keep Tosh out, then clearly they had the capacity to get into the NHS's database to wipe records.

"Looks like we will need to make a house call to Dr. Copeland. Owen, you're with me." said Jack.

The two men were almost out the door, Sherlock right on their tail. "Come along, John." he said.

Jack turned on his heel with military precision. He walked up to Sherlock's face, standing toe to toe. "NO."

"What do you mean, no? You need me. I'll be able to take one look at Copland and tell you his life story and how best to predict what his next moves will be. You need me, Captain." said Sherlock. He didn't flinch but actually stepped closer into Jack's space to make his point.

With an exasperated huff, Jack gave in. "Fine! But let Owen and I do all the talking. And John, you stay here and assist Martha in further analysis. We don't need to barnstorm his office with a party of four."

Sherlock shot John a cheeky, victorious grin before tailing Captain Harkness and Dr. Harper out.

John settled into the lab with Martha Jones. He felt a bit out of his league, but Martha was kind and didn't mind explaining what she needed him to do. John was checking samples under the high-powered microscope as Ianto placed a cup of coffee at his elbow.

"Ta" said John. He motioned toward the microscope he was using "You all have all first rate kit around here, yeah? Sherlock would act like a kid on Christmas if one of these things landed on his workspace a our kitchen table."

Martha seized the opportunity to ask "So, you two are flatmates, then?"

"Yeah. Most think I'm crazy for it, but, well, I'm never bored."

The fondness in Dr. Watson's tone was not lost on Martha or Ianto. They exchanged a look. Martha dove back in.

"So are you too, you know, more than flatmates then?" she asked.

"Don't mind Martha, John. She's on a roll with the questions about people's personal lives lately. Earlier I had to field questions about Jack's 'dabbling'."

John nearly choked on his coffee. Once recovered he replied "I'm not gay, actually."

"Sorry. We didn't mean to pry. I'm sure you get that question a lot. You and Sherlock being as close of friends as you clearly are." Ianto said.

"One might use the term soul-mates, even." Martha added.

"But don't worry. None of us here put too much weight in those types of titles and definitions." Then Ianto leaned in closer to John under the premise of stacking some papers. He dropped his voice so only John could here. "But for the record, John. You never really answered the question, not properly. And also, I'm not gay either. It's just Jack. It's...just him. Sometimes things just work out that way."


	8. Chapter 8

Surprisingly, Sherlock actually (nearly) kept his promise about allowing Jack and Owen do all the talking at the Pharm with Dr. Copeland. He roamed the office space, poking at Copeland's books and pretended to examine his art work. It was only when the Pharm's director asked Jack about the mysterious man in the turned-up coat collar that Sherlock spoke up. He didn't even wait for Jack to finish the introduction before he lit into Copeland about one of his early published studies and how he kept the trial going with new subjects long after the preliminary results indicated that the treatment could be causing neurological damage in the human subjects. It was a black spot on Copeland's career that had nearly had his license to practice revoked, and one that he tried hard to keep from being associated with his current work and reputation.

Once out in the SUV, and having established via Jack's wrist strap (which Sherlock squinted at from the backseat) that there ware definitely alien species in the Pharm compound, Owen turned to Sherlock.

"So, can you do that thing where you figure out his password from his surroundings? Help us break in?"

Sherlock tapped his lips with his finger tips. "No…" he said with a far away look in his eyes. "Copeland is pragmatic, distrustful. Since being burned by the overzealousness of his youth, he still takes risks and oversteps boundaries but he takes extreme measures to cover his tracks. All the access codes will be meaningless number sequences that are created by a random password generator and changed on a regular basis. And if Dr. Copeland is backed into a corner, he will come out swinging and kicking and throwing sand in the eyes of his attacker. For all the cleanliness of his current reputation and his office, he is willing to fight dirty. And right now he is sitting in that well-staged impressive office trying to figure out Torchwood's next move, and he will be preparing for it."

Jack chimed in "So he is trying to stay one step ahead of us, and we will need to anticipate two steps ahead of him. Super. Not hard at all."

Sherlock slid down in the back seat, still running his fingertips along his bottom lip. Slowly, a smile spread. "That's why you have me on the case Captain." Under his breath, the consulting detective murmured "out of their depth…"

Sherlock kept muttering to himself with animated hand gestures most of the ride back. They pulled into the hub's parking space. Jack and Owen got out, only to look back and see Sherlock still in the backseat, deep in conversation with himself.

"Go one ahead, Owen. I'll take Sherlock through the guest entrance." said Jack.

Jack opened the back door to the SUV and stood there for a few moments, watching Sherlock. He had to suppress a smile when he heard a singular name muttered a few times in between sentence fragments."

"Do you know you do that?" asked Jack good-naturedly.  
Sherlock looked about as if coming out a a daze, but did recover quickly. Immediately the annoyed look was firmly plastered on the younger man's face. "Do what exactly?" he asked placidly while exiting the car.

"You don't talk to yourself when you do that. You talk to John. I heard you say his name a few times." Jack responded.

Sherlock's face briefly faltered and flushed.

"I find supplying his possible responses to be elucidating to my thought process. John may not be meet my level of intelligence but he is not as idiotic as the masses and as a conductor of light for my deductive process he is most…" Sherlock's mouth stopped, as if his brain reined it in with just a moment to spare before he gushed too much. He opened and closed his mouth a few more times with no words. Finally he settled on his response with unconvincing aloofness "useful."

Jack was leading Sherlock across the Plass at the time, towards the looming water tower monument. There was a cold mist raining down on them. It seemed to be the default weather for Cardiff bay. Jack stopped in his tracks. Sherlock stopped two steps afterwards and turned back towards Captain Harkness with a questioning eyebrow raised.

"Useful? That's the best you can do for someone who means so much to you?" Jack asked, arms crossed.

"Oh shut up!" countered Sherlock, a six foot six-year-old wrapped in a flowing Belstaff.

"Why are we even up here anyway? Or is there some super-secret trap door or something that you want to impress me with?" Sherlock asked in annoyance.

Jack's face and bravado dropped a touch.

"Oh god, there is a trap door isn't there? Of course there is. Dull…" said Sherlock, studying his finger nails in an act of disinterest.

Jack rolled his eyes. They were at the water tower by then. The sound of rushing water created echoes of white noise off the Millenium Centre.

"Do me a favor, genius boy. Turn that way, count to five, and then let's play hide and seek." said Jack. He indicated for Sherlock to turn away from the water tower monument.

With a huff, Sherlock followed the direction. He turned back around. Jack stood on the invisible lift wearing his best cocky smile. He was happy to get one over on the arrogant consultant. But his face dropped when he realized Sherlock was looking him dead in the eyes. Sherlock shrugged his shoulders in a dramatic gesture of annoyed questioning.

"Wait, you can see me?" cried Jack.

"I'm not supposed to be able to see you right in front of me?" countered Sherlock.

"Well, no…perception filter…oh never mind! Just come here and stand with me, the elevator will take us down to the Hub." Jack grumbled.

Sherlock and Jack rode the elevator down in silence. Before it reached the ground Jack was already yelling to Tosh to run a diagnostic on the perception filter. She said it was functioning fine. Jack shot more grumbling in Sherlock's direction before stepping off the lift. Ianto greeted him soon afterwards, deftly removing Jack's great coat and subtly running a hand soothingly down Jack's back. As soon as the coat was off, a steaming, striped cup was placed into Jack's hand. The fingers of the two men briefly intertwined as the dark coffee was handed over. Even before the first sip, Sherlock noted that the stress indicators that Jack exhibited were already melting away. Anticipation of the caffeine rush, or was it sentiment?

As Sherlock was still filing away these dynamics between the Captain of Torchwood and the archivist/field agent, he removed his own coat and scarf. Sherlock spun around awkwardly, looking for someplace to throw them. He was about to dump the damp items on Gwen's chair when, without a word, John appeared and swept them out of his hands. John shot him a softly chastising look, knowing where the coat was originally headed, and trotted them instead to a series of hooks on the wall just above the med bay. When John returned to Sherlock's side he brought with him a fresh cuppa. He handed it to Sherlock, not caring to move his hand from it's solid grip on the whole mug to make room for Sherlock's long fingers. Sherlock hooked his thumb through the handle, his fingers sliding over the back of John's hand as the exchange was made. It was a practiced move that they quietly enacted back on Baker street numerous times a day. Sherlock took a sip and felt the warmth seep in. He felt more focused already. It must be from the tea. John always remembered the two sugars.

It was late in the evening when the plan to infiltrate the Pharm via its open call for new research subjects was hatched. The Chinese from earlier in the day had been reheated, the cartons scattered between the group as they all stood about yawning.

The travel and other events of the day must have been catching up with Sherlock finally. John at least had napped on the train. Sherlock picked dumplings from the carton in front of John and had removed is suit coat.

"But don't you see?" Sherlock interjected. "Copeland is on alert! He'll be expecting Torchwood to make another move to get in. The recruitment program is the obvious choice! He'll be waiting for someone to show up on his doorstep. But, oh! Oh! That's it! He's expecting you to send someone. Some ONE. So we will send two. One will be an red herring. Fit the bill enough to be an obvious Torchwood member. But the second will be our your plant."  
"That's actually pretty good. It's sound reasoning." said Gwen.

"Of course it is. And John is the obvious choice. He's a terrible actor but charming enough to make a convincing go of almost getting in." Sherlock said, popping another pilfered dumpling in his mouth.

John experienced his familiar confusion about whether to be flattered or insulted, then just shrugged it off. He was too knackered to think about it too much.

Sherlock continued "Stick as close to the truth as possible. Should give them enough reason to reject you. They probably won't want to mess with someone who has a professional medical background, and not sure if even they have the clearance to wipe medical records from military databases, so there's that as well. You are also probably a bit over the ideal age range they are looking for."

"Thanks so much for that, Sherlock." replied John, rubbing his eyes. He sank back a little further in his seat and looked about for somewhere to put up his feet. Sherlock had his legs kicked up on a small box. Perpendicular to Sherlock, John helped himself to propping up his crossed ankles on Sherlock's bony shins. Sherlock didn't seem to notice or care.

"You're welcome, John." yawned Sherlock.

After a bit more deliberation, it was decided that Martha would be the one to truly infiltrate the Pharm.

"Ok team! Looks like everyone could use some rest. Head home. Meet back here first thing and we'll see that the good doctors Jones and Watson are fit with aliases for their visit to the Pharm. Ianto, will you have enough time to make up the ID's and all?"

"Yeah." said Ianto, stretching. "I'll just spend the night here, will save me some time. I can get them done in the morning before everybody arrives."

"Sure, that's why you want to spend the night." teased Tosh as she helped Ianto to bin all the discarded take-away boxes.

Ianto responded with a scandalous eye brow wag that had John chuckling.

"C'mon boys. You're with me. Jack put me up at a little place with two flats that Torchwood keeps in town for 'out of town visitors'. I crashed at the 1 bedroom last night, but the other flat is a studio with 2 beds."

"Sounds like just what the Dr. ordered, Dr. Jones." aid John.

"Then shall we, Dr. Watson?" said Martha, taking John's arm and heading for the exit.

"Now would this be the location on 5th street, the one on Loudoun, or did they send you all the way out to that god forsaken island bunker?" asked Sherlock, following the pair out the cog door.

"Well, just goes to show, even genius boy can't get all the deductions right when he's tired." said Gwen as they all watched the trio leaving.

Owen shrugged. Tosh nodded in sleepy agreement as she powered down her work station.

Only Jack and Ianto exchanged a concerned look, a look that they were mindful that the others did not catch.

_Author's note:_

_Sorry so much for the delay in this posting! Been busy and my Torchlock muse has not been cooperating! In case you are not entirely familiar with Torchwood, there is an "invisible lift" that leads from the monument above to the vast Hub hidden beneath it. The lift is concealed by a perception filter, a bit of alien technology, that makes anyone standing on it virtually invisible to those passing by. It would give the observer the feeling that they are just missing something out of the corner of their eye. In my story, it doesn't work on our consulting detective. Jack is disappointed that his favorite trick doesn't work._

_Also, the island that is eluded to at the end of the chapter is Flat Holm, not mentioned until the later episode of Torchwood entitled Adrift. There is a secret compound there where damaged rift refugees are taken care of, funded by Jack. It is revealed in that episode that the only Torchwood personnel to know of it are Jack and Ianto. And now Sherlock. In my head cannon about my own story, Sherlock noticed strange activity on google earth around the locations that he mentioned and attributed them to being associated with Torchwood._

_As always, feel free to contact me with questions or constructive criticism. If you feel moved to write a review please know that they absolutely make my day!_


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